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Day 1 Overnight - Time is Tight
“That moment,” Dorian mused at the sudden onslaught, “when a quiet drink is disrupted by the local stadium turning out its’ crowd.” In an instant, the galley was suddenly filled with nearly all the crew and one or two passengers. Vas and Dillon were there, looking glum, accompanied by a surprisingly ornate Jacy, whose efforts at cheer reached for reinforcement in a whiskey bottle. Some stranger…a passenger, perhaps?...chose this moment to lecture Dillon, the conclusion of which was foregone. The mechanic burst in, his target the coffee pot. Devron: "I'm going to work through the night LT, and barring any problems, I'm hoping we will be able to launch about noon tomorrow. About 8 hours ahead of my previous estimate." Noon. Well, that changed things. Considering Devron’s earlier time estimates, Dorian had happily booked afternoon patients, the latest coming to his memory as a 5PM start. He’d need to hustle with the morning schedule, not to mention get a runner out first thing to reschedule or cancel anything after a 12PM start. This could be snug. Somewhere along the way, one of the new passengers, the god salesman, had come bashing through the galley with a mind to cook a meal for the crew. The man seemed hell-bent…Dorian smiled at that one...to land bowls of the thick stew in front of everyone. “No, thanks,” the medic said with a lift of his hand. “And by the way…shouldn’t you be…” Jacy: “No can do, shepard. My delightful dentist has me on strict post-op recovery instructions and I’m to stay away from solid meals for another 24-48 hours.” Given the fact that two people in this room were currently ignoring his orders for bed rest, Dorian found the young woman’s statement worthy of an admiring nod and a raised glass. She was drinking whiskey. He watched carefully as she up ended a shot. There was no wince of pain…no adverse sign of a potent beverage impacting her healing gum tissue. In and of itself, that was a very good sign indeed. Across the table, Riley’s chair scraped the deck as she rose to address the crew. Riley: "You heard Devron. He's a head of schedule. That means you're all behind schedule. If you're gettin' paid as a deckhand, drink up all you want tonight, tomorrow morning 0600 I want this ship being shaped. La-Laoyd, you and ... Jat - supply run, you ain't back by take off, enjoy Santo, 'cause I ain't waiting. and this time put the goram food in the ruttin' Galley. List will be posted come morning. I want the cargo bay secured, and whatever foul shit Dim is cooking out there ditched. If I see you ain't busy I'll find something to make sure you're busy, and rest assured, I can be creative as rut when it comes to assignments. Dillon, whatever you're working on make sure Gil is working on. No free rides. Henry, you're a passenger, cargo bay is here forth off limits. If you need something, any one of these here deckhands will be more than happy to get it for you and if they're less than happy, you let me know. And doc...." Dorian turned back, meeting the pilot’s gaze and finding...surprise. A fleeting empathy, quickly vanished. Yet, unexpected as it was, he couldn't help but share in that moment. Riley: "Make sure the med bay is stocked. Anything you need list it up, I'll make sure it's taken care of." Dorian nodded to the affirmative. “Copy that.” He checked his pocket watch. “Oh-six-hundred was just a couple hours away…and there was an inventory to accomplish prior to. If he started now, there’d be time to square away his wish list, rejigger his patient schedule, and even grab a shower. No rest for the wicked tonight, but once LV broke atmo he could enjoy a good, long sleep en route to Ezra. As he saw it, there was just one challenge remaining…a kiln for Jacy's crowns. “Well,” he thought, “there is that other little issue of the mystery ship that tailed us to Santo." He’d thought to ask earlier, but with time suddenly tightened by eight hours, that window had closed. After swapping a shot glass for a coffee mug, Dorian Adler made his way down aft to the infirmary.